


Space Dementia

by cigarettestainedeyes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abuse, First Kiss, M/M, Past Abuse, Swearing, Violence, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-04-01 10:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4016116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettestainedeyes/pseuds/cigarettestainedeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is about how John Murphy ended up in the Skybox, and how Bellamy Blake helped him get there.</p><p>No one was supposed to get hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a big thanks to my friend who read and reread this over and over as it devoured me whole. plot holes from the show i filled, with no real knowledge of the book aside from what i've looked into on wiki.

No one was supposed to get hurt. Jaha hadn’t counted -- that was his way _in_. Down on Earth, his role as leader wasn’t supposed to be plagued by violence and unnecessary killing. He wanted to rule in peace, to be beloved by this band of misfits.

But there Murphy was -- strung up by his neck and gasping for his life. He wasn’t the first Bellamy had harmed, but Murphy was the only one so far that had made something in him burn with regret. Bellamy had wanted John to be his second in command, someone he could trust. As Murphy pleaded behind the unyielding cotton in his mouth, eyes watering and blood dripping from several open wounds, Bellamy wanted nothing more than to cut him down and figure this all out, just give the boy two more seconds to explain his side of the story.

However, the people wanted to see someone pay and the crowd was close to a full-on riot.

So he kicked the fucking crate, watched the kid struggle mercilessly a few times before Charlotte burst with the truth, making everyone go quiet before scrambling into motion.

They got Murphy down and Bellamy could see the fire in his eyes, the hatred...aimed right at him for a few seconds before Murphy’s attention turned to Charlotte. Bellamy quickly grabbed the girl by the collar and dragged her into the closest tent, Clarke and Finn following behind him.

*

A little more than six months prior, aboard the Ark, John Murphy was sitting in the rec hall, tossing a ball and watching it hit the wall, catching it as it came flying back. He was alone, hitting the odd hour when his station was the only one on break, and he was able to find silence in the usual suffocating space of the ship. His objective was to sit there for most of the afternoon, but his mother suddenly appeared in the threshold of the room. She had other plans for him, reeked of booze and was all bloodshot in the eyes. This wasn’t the first time she’d hunted him down but the rec room was the farthest she’d ever gone to search for him. Now he’d have to take to hiding on another station if he wanted to get away from her.

She didn’t say a word to him. Instead she began beating him with her clenched fists, first on his sides and back then growing more confident and nailing him in the face a few times before jabbing his stomach and thighs. She cried in bursts at the beginning, started reeling back and cowering when she was spent, sobs wracking her fragile form. Her face was red, almost purple. She glared at him while he curled inwards and clutched his stomach, tucking his face in to avoid more hits.

John didn’t look at her as she crept slowly from the room, muttering about her ‘useless reminder, sunofabitchin son.' John remained on the ground, staring at the ball sitting a few inches from his face, before letting out a labored sigh. So much of him hurt but he didn’t want to move. He didn’t even care that his wrist was potentially sprained. He’d had worse.

“You didn’t fight back.” A voice suddenly rang through the room.

The rec room had a few booths built into the walls on one side but they were uncomfortable and Murphy rarely sat there. He hadn’t seen Bellamy Blake, perfectly hidden by the privacy curtain pulled forward a few inches. He’d met the boy on occasion, spoken to him once while in line for rations, but hadn’t heard anything about him since they’d found his sister. After they floated his mother and sent him to the janitorial station, John hadn’t thought twice about it; wasn’t anything to do with him.

Murphy sniffed, getting blood in his mouth and coughed, spitting on the floor a few feet away. “Never do. She’s out of her mind, is all.” He shrugged, sitting up.

His sides hurt, his eyes stung. His fists were bloody from hitting the ground so he wouldn’t hit her instead.

“She’s publicly drunk. She could get floated for that.” Bellamy pointed out.

Murphy was silent for a moment. “Think I’d like it better if she was.”

Bellamy didn’t reply. He slid out of the booth and walked over to where John was sitting. He hunched down and peered at him for a moment. Murphy didn’t meet his eyes for a few seconds but once he did Bellamy’s stare fixated him.

“You shouldn’t let her do it.” He said firmly. “It's not okay. And your dad wouldn’t be proud.”

Murphy shoved him back. Bellamy tipped and fell, hands splayed out to break his tumble a bit. Murphy got on top of him, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up. It was the first time Murphy noticed Bellamy’s eyes, how they were all dark and stormy brown, almost black enough to hide the iris. Something in his stomach clenched. He figured it was fury. “You don’t know shit, Blake. You didn’t know my dad. He tried to save me by stealing that medicine.”

“Didn’t work though, huh?” Blake shot back, hands grabbing John’s, maybe to stop him from potentially throwing a punch. “So now you let her beat you up? I’m not saying hit her back, but I wouldn’t take that shit,” he paused to catch his breath, “and neither should you.”

“Go float yourself, asshole.” Murphy spat out before trying to wrench away from Bellamy’s grasp.

The older man hooked his legs around Murphy and used his weight to roll them to the side, then all the way over. Bellamy pinned him fast. Murphy was pissed off but Bellamy was strong, and better at making quick decisions. He glared down at Murphy as the boy struggled.

“You want me to help?” Bellamy asked.

Murphy stopped struggling, completely taken by surprise. “What?”

Bellamy didn’t say anything for a moment, looking at Murphy intensely before repeating. “Do you want my help?”

*

Murphy was roaring outside of the tent, voice going hoarse with how he bellowed Charlotte’s name. The others were terrified of trying to stop him, now fearing for their own lives as well as a young girls. Bellamy needed to get Murphy isolated and calm but there was no way that was happening. The boy was on a mission to string up an eleven-year-old. So instead of trying to get to Murphy, he ran farther ahead.

He found Charlotte and bolted, thinking that maybe he could fix it all. Before he could do anything she ran straight off a cliff, accepting her death and punishing herself for what she’d done to Wells. It was his turn to be angry. The rage he felt in his body roared through him like a tidal wave and he heard nothing as he ran at Murphy, as the boy said his name, as he straddled him and pummeled him close to death.

After threatening Murphy with his life if he were ever seen at the camp again, they left him at the edge of a cliff, to the mercy of the grounders that would find him eventually. They left him alone with nothing, no tent for shelter in case of acid fog, not even extra cloth to bandage his wounds.

The entire way back Bellamy knew there were tears in his eyes and he knew everyone thought they were for Charlotte.

*

“Do you want me to help you?” Bellamy asked more clearly, letting one of the pinned wrists go and wiping at something near Murphy’s eye; he assumed it was blood.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, dude? Stay out of my fucking business.” He tried to keep his tone rough but he wasn't trying to get away anymore. He couldn't help but notice the muscles in Bellamy's legs, how easily he was being held down, the way Blake's hands curled around his wrists and gripped. He was bending down, bringing their faces closer. Murphy shut his eyes tight, taking a deep breath and refocusing. He wanted help, absolutely needed help. He felt like shit most of the time and no one seemed to notice or care. He didn't broadcast his personal shit but people knew his dad got floated, and they knew about his mom. It wasn't a big secret.

"Don't be a prick. I'll help you." Bellamy insisted before standing and offering a hand.

"Oh yeah, Blake?" Murphy still wasn't sure what a janitor could possibly do, but Bellamy's confidence made him pause. He gripped Bellamy's hand and slowly got up, his body aching. "What's your big idea?"

"We have a bunch of chemicals in janitorial. I'll throw some stuff together, sneak it in her booze. They won't waste any sort of tests on her, it'll look like she drank herself to death and they'll just float the body." Bellamy spoke in a casual sort of way, like he had this plan tucked in his back pocket and was using it now as some pre-determined move.

"That easy, huh?" Murphy quipped, not meeting Bellamy's eyes, looking past him at the door as if suddenly afraid someone might interrupt them. "Why are you helping me? What do you want me to do for this?" Maybe it wasn't the right decision, letting his mother get murdered, but she had turned into a shit of a person. Murphy let his temper get in the way of his better judgment all the time -- why bother stopping now?

Bellamy shrugged. "Nothing. I just want to help."

Murphy's eyes darted away then met his, giving him a look but Bellamy's stare didn't waver. "I doubt that." Murphy muttered but didn't continue asking about his intentions. "How is this going to happen?"

"I'll come to collect garbage and leave a small bottle in the trash under the new bag. Just pour it in her drink. She'll die pretty quickly." Bellamy instructed. Murphy nodded. Bellamy took a step closer and they were almost touching. Murphy took half a step back. "Get rid of the bottle. Eject it if you can. If not, burn it."

Murphy studied him for a moment before nodding. "Okay."

They shook on it.


	2. Chapter 2

Murphy was spewing blood onto the floor of the drop ship and Bellamy had never been so relieved to see him alive. However there was a pretense to keep up now that Charlotte was dead. He lifted his gun and aimed but Clarke interjected, demanding he stop. Everything in him yelled to pull the trigger but he trusted her. Clarke was just as much of a leader as he was so he backed off, went somewhere else to blow off steam, anywhere that wasn’t around Murphy.

Unfortunately when he fell sick with the hemorrhaging virus, he was stranded with Murphy and about fourteen infected others, all passed out or in varying states of tremors. There were three already covered with parachutes and tents -- dead. His sister came in every hour or so to check up on him, but once Octavia was gone it was just John.

He'd been trying to get Bellamy to drink water for an hour or so now but the boy had been doing a good job of rolling side to side and shoving Murphy’s hands away to avoid any help. Bellamy passed out twice and Murphy gave in for a few seconds, cupping the man’s face, running his fingers through the thick, curly hair. His heart jumped as Bellamy stirred and he retracted his hands.

“Murphy, get the hell away.” Bellamy’s words were slurred, he was dehydrated and he’d lost too much blood.

"Just drink the water, dammit." He was sick of treating Bellamy like glass. Murphy tangled his fingers in Bellamy's curls and held onto his head, pushing the edge of a tin cup up against his mouth and tipping it back.

Bellamy was too weak to fight anymore, despite wanting to curl away from the touch. He opened his mouth, let the water pour down his throat, swallowed miserably and stared up into Murphy's swollen, bleeding eyes, one of them blackened shut.

He tried to say something but his throat was sore and he started coughing. Murphy leaned down slowly, bringing his ear close to Bellamy’s mouth. He could feel puffs of hot air against his face. The sensation ran through him and he swallowed hard.

"Huh?" He muttered once Bellamy had managed to clear his throat and swallow.

"Fuck. You." He choked out before pushing Murphy away with the last of his strength.

Murphy didn't approach him for a few hours after that. When he tried again, Bellamy delivered the same cold shoulder. Clarke appeared next to Murphy and told him to tend to the others, taking his place beside Bellamy.

He looked at Clarke, spoke with reverence, “Do you really trust Murphy?" He asked once the other boy was out of earshot.

"Trust? No. I do believe in second chances though." She replied evenly.

He didn't know why he couldn't grasp that concept, but her words stuck with him the rest of the day.

*

Murphy remembered being antsy as a child. He stuck to his quarters and didn’t like being in crowds. It felt weird, like he should excuse himself. Him and his parents were stationed in the packaging center, factory work. It made a person pretty solitary. Over the years his nerves calmed a bit and a sarcastic sneer replaced his usual self-conscious demeanor. People started to notice what he was saying, even if he wasn't always right.

The only person he liked to talk to, John Mbege, was pretty quiet and laid back himself. They got along well enough and Murphy didn't need many friends -- at least that's what he liked to think.

As he sat in the mess hall, he couldn’t help but twitch. He drummed his fingers on the table, poked at his rations but couldn’t eat. His stomach was in knots. Unaware of his surroundings, he jolted when Bellamy suddenly appeared. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if it was a good idea for them to be seen speaking but the man took a seat across from him and Murphy couldn’t avoid him.

“You okay?” Bellamy asked, reaching across and touching Murphy’s hand. His palm was warm, fingers smooth as they applied pressure in a reassuring squeeze.

Murphy jerked back and sat up straight, meeting Bellamy’s gaze evenly. “Sure. Just having doubts I guess.”

Bellamy’s look grew more tense and he narrowed his eyes. “If you want to back down, now’s the time.” He said. “This is serious.”

Murphy leaned over the table, growing furious. “You don’t think I know that? I’m killing my _mother_.” He hissed, volume dropping so no one else would hear.

Bellamy copied John’s position. “It’ll work. Stop worrying.”

“Well, when will you have the stuff ready?” He asked. His stomach twisted, like there was battery acid in his veins. He suddenly felt like he was going to throw up.

“Soon, I can’t just take a bunch of chemicals all at once. I have to stagger it or someone will notice. They’re going to suspect me anyways if they find the bottle.” Bellamy told him, which made complete sense and Murphy suddenly felt like an asshole for being so hasty.

“Okay.” He nodded and forced himself to calm down a bit.

“John Murphy.” A voice said suddenly.

He looked over his shoulder. The Guard, two right behind him and a few of them coming in behind near the entrance.

“What?” He muttered rudely. He hated the Guard.

The two in front of him tensed up before one of them barked, “You’re under arrest for stealing rations from the kitchen, stand up and put your hands behind your back.”

The anxiety came flooding back.

*

Jasper Jordan would’ve been easier to kill. He didn’t matter to Murphy, didn’t paralyze him with the feeling of hope and security or spine-tingling kisses, dizzying hugs. Murphy didn’t feel like he was staring into the fucking sun when he looked at Jasper, not like when Bellamy walked in the room. Jasper was a spaz, a kid who didn’t fit into his body yet -- just like Murphy, who felt like he was stumbling through life and barely making it. Bellamy was more focused and collected, all long fingers and sharp cheekbones, built but still building. Jasper Jordan would have most definitely been easier to kill. He was weak right now, still didn’t have the confidence built up to really stand up for himself or be a leader. Now, cowering and tied up, he cried and begged, just as Murphy had when his life hung in the balance of a crate and a rope.

But then Bellamy offered Murphy a switch. Even over walkie-talkie, his voice still pissed Murphy off. Angrily, he had barked, “yeah, well, in case you haven’t noticed, you’re not exactly in control right now.” He wanted Bellamy to be submerged in a chaotic mess for once, to be the one scared and struggling for air.

And then he’d dropped the bomb. “C’mon Murphy, you don’t wanna hurt Jasper. You wanna hurt me. So what do you say...how about you trade him for me?” Bellamy was spot on, Murphy wanted to hurt him, wanted to rip away everything he loved.

He gripped the walkie hard, his mind swirling with memories. There was so much that wasn’t being said -- keeping up appearances and all that but Murphy knew. They were both speaking with double-meaning fueling every word.

“Just you, Bellamy! Unarmed!” He shouted.

Murphy opened the drop ship door and roughly got Jasper to his feet, bellowing a countdown to the crowd outside. Bellamy announced his presence and in the next few seconds strolled in, swiping past the torn cloth hanging from the door almost pretentiously as he entered. Murphy shoved Jasper outside roughly.

It was the first time they’d been alone since Murphy had been back to camp. Bellamy paused for a minute, just looking at him. When he lurched forward, each stepped seemed heavier than the last. He lifted an arm, actually reached out like he was going to _touch_ John. When he was close enough for Murphy to see a spark of hope in his eyes, Murphy gripped the gun he was holding a little harder.

Bellamy paused. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Fucking stay back, okay?” He replied hoarsely, trying to slow his breathing and focus more on what he was doing.

Bellamy didn’t come any closer but he still didn’t look intimidated. “What’s your endgame here, Murphy? Seriously.”

“You never worried about follow through in the past, why the hell do you care now?” He spat, almost pulling the trigger. Instead he lined up the shot a bit straighter, aimed right at the fuckers heart. He cocked his head and looked at Bellamy. “So what’s it going to be, Bell? Am I ending this right now or are you gonna listen to me?

Bellamy gave a short laugh and took a step forward. “What do you want, Murphy?”

“I want you...to start tying together those seat belts. And I’ll tell you when to stop.” He said each word carefully, like he was explaining how to defuse a bomb.

Bellamy looked confused still. “What? I don’t -- ” Murphy pulled the trigger.

The shot missed but he hadn’t really been trying. He had shifted his aim at the last second in order to miss. It still hit pretty close to Blake’s foot and it made him pause and look at Murphy in shock, like he was seeing him for the first time.

“That’s good. Then do what I said.” Murphy’s eyes were cold and dead but he sounded savage. Bellamy didn’t have a choice. He just needed to buy himself time.

Once Bellamy had everything tied, his movements slowed. Murphy ordered him to hoist up the noose and he completely stopped moving.

“What do you want me to say? You want me to apologize?” He started, his voice straining as his desperation grew. “I’m -- ” He jerked forward, felt compelled to be closer, but Murphy adjusted the gun in his hand; it was a warning. “I’m sorry.” He finally said.

Murphy had been waiting for an apology. Since the Ark. Since the plan to kill his mother had gone awry. Since he’d been caught for one stupid little thing. Since Bellamy Blake had inserted himself into Murphy’s life and fucked everything up.

It was too late, was what it was.

“You got it all wrong, Bellamy. I don’t want you to say anything.” He grinned.

And for the first time, Bellamy looked scared.

“I want you to feel what I felt, and then...then I want you to die.” Murphy nodded curtly, as if it was the only logical ending to the entire story.

*

When he didn’t move for a few moments, one of the members of the Guard pulled out a stun gun. Murphy stood silently. Bellamy glared angrily at the Guard. They both knew what was happening. John hadn’t taken a thing.

“It wasn’t me.” Murphy started.

Two men grabbed his arms, spun John around and pushed his face against the table. People around them stared and whispered.

Bellamy quickly stood, “What the fuck?” he shouted. “He didn’t do it, his mom did! She’s a drunk, you all know about it!” He glanced around. “You all know!” He repeated.

Nobody moved. They watched with wide eyes, some tearful, others filled with disdain. Bellamy could nothing but stand and watch helplessly as Murphy was practically dragged from the room.

Murphy found himself in front of Jaha and the rest of the members of the council. He’d tried talking to the guard as they pushed and shoved him to the conference room but they didn’t listen. He looked at the council, the people that had floated his father and stood by as his mother became a resentful drunk. It wasn’t their fault but she was a citizen of the Ark. He just didn’t think it was fair.

“Please,” he begged, “my mother is the one that took the rations. You all know how much she’s been drinking lately. Please, Jaha.” He willed himself not to cry. Breathing helped but the council was silent and he was starting to feel a panic rise in his chest.

After they deliberated for over an hour, they called Murphy out of temporary lockup and he found himself alone with Jaha.

“Given the fact that your mother is still grieving as much as she is, the council and I have decided to let this incident pass without consequence. Please note, John...we will not be forgiving next time. All crime on the Ark must be accounted for. It’s how we survive. Do not test us.” Jaha looked at him with a sad expression, though his words were harsh.

Murphy felt relief flood through him. He wasn’t getting floated. Jaha smiled slightly and patted him on the shoulder. “You’re free to go.”

He wasn’t escorted back to his room. People looked at him as he passed, someone reached out and touched him. They were shocked to see him. Once inside his room, he realized Bellamy was sitting on his bed. The man stood.

“How’d you get in?” Murphy asked gruffly. “Where’s my mom?”

Bellamy shrugged, taking a few steps forward. “She hasn’t come in. I wanted to see if you’d be back, figured this was the most direct way to do that.” He paused, staring at Murphy for a few seconds and not speaking. “I thought you’d be -- "

“Yeah well I guess they figured my life was already shit enough.” He cut in, not entirely comfortable with how concerned Bellamy sounded. “You’re awfully suddenly all up in my business, Blake. What’s up with that?” He asked, flopping back onto his bed, putting his hands behind his head.

Bellamy didn’t reply for a moment. “I don’t know. Guess I’ve always had someone to look after. I’ve been noticing you is all, noticing the shit you’ve been dealing with. I thought I’d try to help.”

“It’s just really...I don’t know. People aren’t like that.” He replied.

“I am.” Bellamy said immediately. He approached Murphy, who in turn sat up. Bellamy reached out and put a hand on Murphy’s shoulder.

Murphy wasn’t used to being touched. His mother stopped hugging him after the death of his father and the few friends he had weren’t really the hugging sort of people. The contact made his stomach flip. He couldn’t tell if the look Bellamy was giving him was one of pity, or something else. Bellamy didn’t wait a moment longer, swaying forward and kissing him.

Murphy jerked back in shock, his face flooding with heat. His eyes dropped to Bellamy’s mouth. He hadn’t been expecting it. Bellamy took advantage of his confusion and snuck a hand around his neck. He held it tight and directed their mouth’s back together despite the small, “hey!” Murphy let out. Murphy’s hands touched his jacket, going up to his shoulders where they stayed. His fingers tensed. He had never been kissed before. Bellamy obviously had and his mouth was warm as it moved, brushing lightly one moment and consuming John the next. He hitched a knee up onto the bed and tipped Murphy back. The movement caused them to break apart. Murphy struggled to breathe. He found himself staring at a blushing Bellamy Blake, but blushing or not there was hard intent in the man’s eyes.

“Jesus, Blake -- ” Murphy muttered before letting his head fall back onto the bed.

He didn’t want to fight. It wasn’t about sex, it wasn’t about getting off. Murphy felt an unbelievable sense of closeness. He’d never known intimacy or tenderness and the foreign feeling threaded through him like a virus. He liked it. Bellamy let his weight drop onto Murphy and held him tight. Murphy’s fragile life was unwinding at a constant rate and that one hug pieced a bit of it back together. They remained like that for a few moments before Bellamy lifted his head and loomed over him again, slowly taking John’s wrists in his hands and preventing him from moving. Murphy couldn’t think. He never knew that having another person this close, this in control...he never knew it’d be such a turn on. Blake wasn’t unattractive either, which didn’t hurt.

He smiled a little as the realization dawned and Bellamy smirked back. “You’re bright red.” He informed.

“You are too, asshole.” Murphy sniped back, jolting back to reality. Bellamy chuckled and dropped down to kiss him again.

Murphy tried kissing him back but his heart was pounding and he was almost shaking with the feeling gathering in his heart, in his lower gut. His mind glossed over the details of who he was kissing and what the circumstances were and just let himself feel; Bellamy’s legs in between his, hard and unmoving even though John squirmed unintentionally; the pads of Bellamy’s thumbs pushing against John’s pulse points on his wrists to the point where John Murphy didn’t know whether he was feeling his own heartbeat or both; Bellamy breaking the kiss and pushing his forehead against John’s, exchanging air they were so close.

One of Bellamy’s hands disappeared from John’s wrists and found itself on the boy’s sharp hips, pushing down. John let out a moan and it made him look away in embarrassment.

“Hey,” Bellamy said, “you don’t need to feel ashamed.” He kissed John until the boy couldn’t breathe, till his mouth was red as his cheeks, until he was satisfied Murphy felt something other than hate and despair. Both of his hands clutched at John’s hips, too afraid to move them and take it further. Bellamy couldn’t help but think of how inexperienced John was and didn’t want to scare him off.

Bellamy broke away from John to bite along his neck and John pushed against his chest, “Dude, my mom will be back any second.”

Bellamy lifted his head a bit and cocked an eyebrow, “you really want me to leave?” He asked, a hand going up to thread through Murphy’s hair. He pulled lightly and Murphy’s hips moved, mouth opening in shock.

Murphy just blinked at him, mulling it over for a few minutes. “No, but I don’t want to give her another reason to hate me, especially if…” He trailed off. _Especially if we’re going to kill her._

Bellamy let out a sigh and reluctantly removed himself from Murphy. John sat up and rubbed a hand over his face, through his hair that was all mussed now.

Bellamy’s posture changed in the next few seconds, he suddenly appeared nervous. He put his hands in his pockets and looked around. “Should I stay or...or do you want me to get out of here?”

Murphy didn’t know. “I don’t know.”

It was Bellamy’s turn to blink at him a few times before responding. “That doesn’t...er…” he trailed off, taking a seat on a chair nearby. “You don’t talk to people often, do you?”

“Not really.” Murphy mumbled. “That bad, huh?”

“Yeah, it’ pretty bad.” Bellamy said with a laugh.

Murphy flipped him off but was grinning all the same. “Well you’re no connoisseur of the vernacular either from what I’ve seen.”

“Connoisseur of the vernacular?” Bellamy echoed, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re such a pretentious shit.” He shot back and they both laughed.

It felt nice, seemingly having someone. Now, no matter what else happened, at least he had Bellamy.


	3. Chapter 3

Bellamy was beginning to sweat. Worry was seeping in despite his better judgment, he was starting to doubt that he would get out of this. He needed to stall. Murphy instructed him to drag a stool beneath the noose that was hanging menacingly in the air. Bellamy complied but was busy inside his own head trying to figure out some possible escape.

“Stand on it.” Murphy told him, voice shaking a little, like he couldn’t believe he was at this point, but Murphy was always about absolute survival, no matter whose life it ended up costing.

Begrudgingly, Bellamy got atop the stool. “Put it over your head.” Murphy said slowly, jerking the tip of the gun at the noose. Their eyes met for a moment, intense and calm at the same time. It was maddening.

Bellamy scrambled, “This is insane, the grounders could - ”

BANG! Murphy let another shot ring out and repeated himself, cool and confident. “Put it over your head.”

Bellamy heard the words in his head, repeated over and over, and was pulled into a memory from not that long ago…

_”Put it over your head.” Bellamy repeated, taking John’s wrist and pushing his hand back against the pillow._

_Murphy’s legs were pressing hard against Bellamy’s, his face and neck red, skin moist to the touch. Bellamy had a hand on one of John’s wrists, holding it there while his other hand palmed the hard bulge between John’s legs. Murphy’s other hand found Bellamy’s and scrambled over it, not really trying to stop him, just trying to get him to apply more pressure, hold him at a slightly different angle, anything._

_“Dude, come’on!” John grit out, hips shifting uselessly where they were pinned._

_His mother was working her shift in the factory station while John had feigned sick. Bellamy was doing his janitorial rounds and set up some fake signs right outside Murphy’s room, stating that there was a spill that needed extra attention -- they had plenty of time. That and they had locked the door._

_“I’m not doing anything till you get your hands up there, dude.” Bellamy mocked, squeezing his hand around John’s dick, making the man groan restlessly and try to pull out of Bellamy’s grip, while simultaneously grappling at Bellamy’s stilled hand with his free one._

_“You’re a fucking masochist.” Murphy gasped._

_“You’re thinking of a sadist.” Bellamy informed him slickly and leaned down, pushing against Murphy’s face until the boy turned it to the side._

_Bellamy nipped at his ear and John groaned again, his hand trapped against Bellamy’s, trapped against his dick. It was making the anticipation grow, a sliver of arousal curling up John’s spine._

_“Fine, fine, fine.” He mumbled, wiggling his fingers desperately._

_Bellamy chuckled lowly against his neck before backing off. John’s hand shakily rose until it joined the other. Bellamy grinned and leaned down, kissing him hard. John’s hands went to touch Bellamy but he stopped, put them on the bed, tried to listen for once. Most of their meetups had been quick fumbles, barely anything, and it was the first time John thought he might finally get Bellamy’s hands on him, really on him._

_Bellamy slid his hands up and pushed at John’s shirt, grabbing skin no one had ever touched. It was exhilarating. He got John’s shirt up and over his head, folding it together so it was long and wrapping John’s wrists up together. It was a light hold, John could pull it free of it at any time, but it made his whole body thrum, like a bucket of water had been suddenly dumped on it and he was innately aware of every point where they were touching._

_“Fuck. Fuck.” John kept saying as Bellamy sat up straight, removing his shirt before getting his hands back on Murphy._

_Bellamy’s tongue thoroughly roamed the boy’s mouth while his fingers dug into Murphy’s sides, came forward and pinched at his nipples, went down and pushed down his pants low enough to feel the curve of his ass. When he got his hands on that he broke away from John’s mouth, scooting down to push his pants off._

_John panted but tried not to make any other noises, it was too embarrassing. He couldn’t believe how easy it was for Bellamy to turn him into such a mess. Bellamy was licking below his belly button, tongue going lower and lower as his hands worked John’s pants down. Thumbs hooked under his underwear when he reached it and suddenly they were yanked down. His dick sprung free and he’d never felt such a strong mixture of arousal and shame at the same time._

_Bellamy didn’t say anything, which John was super grateful for. It took him by surprise when instead Bellamy went right for it, tonguing at his dick. John’s arms rose but he kept his hands clasped together, making a few low, guttural noises in the back of his throat._

_His arms rested back against the bed and he grit his teeth together, head tipping back and legs hitching up, caught under Bellamy and pinned together at the ankles by his underwear. It was infuriating. He never thought he’d get so turned on by having so much control taken from him. He wondered if he should be weirded out by this development._

_“Please, Bell --” He begged weakly._

_Bellamy just chuckled again. “Okay.”_

“...put it over your head.” Murphy said again, tugging at his end of the string, voice breaking over the words like static on a speaker.

Bellamy deflated a bit, seemed to reconcile that he wasn’t getting out of this situation and started doing as Murphy had instructed. Hi’s movements were sharp, angry. He slid the noose around his neck, felt the belt against his throat and Murphy pulled -- hard. A malicious grin slithered across his face: he looked pleased.

“You’re so brave...aren’t you?” Murphy asked, no answer required. “I mean, you came in here thinking you were just going to turn this whole thing around, that you were stronger than me, that maybe one of your friends would come and help you. Well what’re you thinking now, Bellamy?”

He pulled at the belt, the noose tightening around Bellamy’s neck. He pressed on, moving closer to the hanging man. As a result the noose tightened. Bellamy could barely feel the stool under his feet. Sweat gathered at his brow.

“Ya know, I gotta hand it to ya, Bellamy. You got’em all fooled. They actually look up to you, ‘bout as much as they look up to Clarke. Yeah, but we know the truth. Don’t we? You’re a coward.” His eyes were ice, each word spat out with a bitter resentment that ran deep, deep into John Murphy.

“I learned that the day you kicked out the crate out from beneath me. But I guess I should’ve saw that coming, since you got me detained for killing my mother, thanks for that by the way. But hey, it’s what the people wanted, right?”

Bellamy finally felt like he was starting to get somewhere. He met John’s eyes evenly. “I should’ve stopped them.” He said firmly. "But...John, it wasn't me - "

John just smiled and breathed a laugh. “Yeah, well, little late for that now.”

A few moments passed in which Bellamy made one last attempt to convince John to let him down, but then John shot out a jab directed at Octavia and Bellamy couldn’t help but blindly kick out towards him. He swung his legs and nearly dropped off the stool, struggling to regain balance.

He knew someone was trying to help him, that Octavia had enlisted Raven to figure out how to get the dropship door open, and his thoughts were confirmed when he heard her shout after a brief electrical surge. Murphy heard it too and aimed his gun at the floor, emptying the magazine while the bullets inflicted little to no damage, certainly not to those under their feet trying to save Bellamy. When he ran out of bullets, he turned and saw Bellamy trying to remove the noose. He charged forward and kicked out the stool from under Bellamy’s feet, and the boy fell, supported only by his neck, kicking and grasping and eyes spilling unwanted tears over.

“Using your hands is a cheat! Mine were bound, remember?” He tried to take hold of Bellamy’s hands but the man struggled so John hit him a few times with his gun to knock the breath out of him.

Bellamy finally remained still, apart from swaying from the noose, but it was just as the dropship door opened.

Panicking, Murphy fled, finding the ammo storage room in the dropship and desperately trying to find bullets for his gun. He didn’t, and on impulse, grabbed the gunpowder just as he heard Bellamy screaming his name hoarsely.

He had no time to think. Moving fast, he set up the canister against the wall, aimed, and shot. It was fiery, messy, a piece of metal caught his cheek and he could feel the sliver of pain like a paper-cut, another nicked his hand; he knew he was bleeding from several places but he just wanted to get out of there, he didn’t care about the wounds.

He made it out of the dropship and bolted towards the forest -- his only form of shelter. Just as he gets into the first line of trees, he turns and gives the dropship one last look. Bellamy is there with Jasper, both looking at him with a mixture of anger and defeat on their faces. He grins a little at them before turning to disappear into the woods, heart racing as he is now trapped between the Grounders, and the people that won’t take him back.

*

John’s heart was hammering in his chest. He didn’t know if they were going to get away with this. He heard a knock at the door and his head snapped anxiously towards his mother, but she was passed out on the couch, a nearly-empty flask clutched in her hands. She hadn’t been disturbed by the noise. He took a deep, somewhat calming breath and got to his feet.

He answered the door and saw it was Bellamy standing there, looking collected. _Bastard_ , John thought to himself. Granted, it wasn’t his mother that was about to be poisoned. Bellamy pushed past John and saw his mother on the couch. He eyed her for a moment before looking back at the John and nodding. For a second, John wondered how it felt for Bellamy to be an accomplice to killing this woman he didn’t really know, but the thought only sat in his head for a moment.

Bellamy busied himself with the trash in the corner of the room. John listened to his movements and heard the thunk of the bottle that was now under the new bag, the thing that would end all his suffering. He swallowed hard. Bellamy saw his anxiety and walked over to him, settling a hand on his shoulder.

“You got this.” He whispered, leaning in and catching John off-guard, pulling him in by his arm and catching his mouth. John had a minor panic attack at the thought of his mother waking up at that very moment and catching them, but Bellamy tasted like freedom and felt like a promise and he let himself enjoy it for a moment.

When Bellamy pulled back he smiled reassuringly at John before heading out.

Murphy looked at the ground for a second before his eyes found his mother again. She was still fast asleep on the couch, drooling a little at this point.

*

It took two days for him to figure out how to get the job done. His mother didn’t seem to go anywhere without her flask and when she was asleep she kept it clasped in her hands. Finally, his moment arrived. She had a sudden urge to hunt down some food in the mess hall, and left her flask on the couch. As she left, he called out to her, “grab me a ration!”, but she didn’t acknowledge him.

“Bitch.” He muttered, rage filling his body. He hated when she completely ignored him, it was worse than the beatings.

Fueled by that rage, he went to the trash and retrieved the bottle of poison. It wasn’t very full. The liquid was light green and watery. He quickly went about pouring some into the flask, expecting his mother to return any second. He prayed she wouldn’t be able to taste the poison, but guessed she wouldn’t have much time to do anything about it.

He was shaking as he threw out the empty bottle. Now all he could do was wait.

*

John spent the rest of the day on edge, waiting for his mother to get back, waiting to see Bellamy, waiting for his shift at work to start just so he could be doing anything other than sitting there throwing a damn ball against the wall.

His mother still hadn’t shown up when it was time for him to get to his work station. It sets his nerves on fire but there’s nothing he can do about it. Feeling helpless he sets off towards work. He sees Bellamy in the hall on his way and they lock eyes. John shakes his head slightly to indicate that nothing has happened yet. Bellamy nods curtly, then looks away.

John spends his shift watching the clock and praying he doesn’t miss the big show.

*

Once finished working, he almost trips running back to his room. Someone, a guard maybe, shouts after him not to run but John could not possibly care less.

He gets to his room and pulls the door open. His mother is on the floor, hands out on the ground like she had been trying to crawl. He can tell she’s still breathing.

“Mom?” He says weakly.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, she raises her head. She meets his eyes, hers bloodshot and actually bleeding a bit -- a burst vessel, John supposes. There’s tears and snot smeared across her face, the thick stench of body odor and liquor wafting the small space.

“Mom.” He repeats, not a question but not a statement, sort of a resigned notion, like he’s coming to terms with it.

She studies his face, and watches the smile that breaks out, the shit-eating grin he develops on his face. Her eyes widen. “You.” She wheezes.

“Yeah, for once, I finally feel safe to come home.” He says, lowly, cold and already detached.

“Foul, evil boy. First you kill your father, the only man I ever loved...now, me. I hope you burn.” She grits out before going into a round of coughing.

“Like your insides are right now?” Murphy throws back at her.

She actually barks out a sharp laugh and Murphy feels a pang of sudden remorse, and he actually considers dragging her to the infirmary. Then she vomits blood on his boots and he’s back to hating her again. Another particularly severe cough later and she goes still on the floor, finally dead.

He felt nauseous and could barely makes it to the trash before emptying his day’s worth of rations from his stomach into the bag. It’s revolting, the stench in the room. His eyes are stinging with what he’s suspecting are tears but he’s too angry to really feel sad. A sudden onslaught of all different types of emotions hits him at once. Did he make the right decision? Did he realize the magnitude of what he had just done?

He needed to get help, needed to be the one that reported her death. He was shaking as he wandered through the halls, looking mindlessly for a guard. He didn’t even look up at who he was talking to, just stared until his eyes found a badge and he stood in front of the person so they couldn’t avoid him. He mumbled out, “My mom’s dead,” and the guard took his ID card, scanned it, then typed a few things into his device and nodded at Murphy.

It was then Murphy finally identified the man in front of him as Commander Shumway. He nodded in return but stayed where he was as the man ran past him, other guards responding to the distress call and running past him.

He could go watch her body be removed, answer some questions. But he just didn’t want to do any of it. He felt too numb, too shocked that the plan had worked.

Another guard rushed past him and he heard the crackle of a walkie-talkie, then a voice, “Grab John Murphy, REPEAT, grab John Murphy. Detain him for questioning.”

His blood ran cold and he didn’t look back at the guard, thrusting himself into motion and racing down the hall. What the fuck happened?


End file.
